A grove of trees consoles me from the opposite side of the park outside my patio. Five trees as one. So, even though I feel completely solitary on this day of golden light, I remember. It’s been said that we’re never really alone. Especially not in a world of more than a billion people. Neighbors reside so closely above and beside me that draw my blinds in early evening. Reminds me of the convent where I struggled with feeling alone while living in a five-storied building with two hundred other women. My excuse then was that we weren’t allowed to talk to one another, except during brief periods of recreation. Otherwise, we observed Silence.

I yearned to talk.

To be seen and heard.

We stood alongside one another in rigid line, bumping elbows. We obediently did our best to ignore one another and stay focused upon an invisible god.

Though I no longer have to, I keep Silence again and live alone with my two cats.

Except for the grove of five, who keep watch over me from across the lawn.

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I always enjoy the time I take to be solitary among nature. It gives me solace and is never silent. Sometimes in evenings at home I do wish there was someone to share the enjoyment of a movie, a good meal, or just a chat. All humans need that interaction and feedback.
Sometimes the “aloneness” gives me a chance to mourn, to express feelings, to write or read. I do not think of it as loneliness.
It is more time committed to myself, to introspection.